Deanmon Gone Wild
by Cherry Hart
Summary: This story is a collaboration between two writers and our take on Deanmon who is a very wicked boy. Supernatural left out all the good parts! The graphic sex and killing as well as Deanmons dark, wicked thoughts. "Sam, the things I'm going to do to you" takes on a whole new meaning. Not Just Sam, no one is safe from the hunger of Deanmon. Sam/Deanmon, Sam/Dean first time.
1. All This and Love Too?

xx/xx/xx

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

**Demons Gone Wild**

**Chapter 1**

**All this and Love Too?**

From the Scene In Episode 10.3 "Soul Survivor": Sam and Dean discuss Dean's possible death as a demon: "I might possibly deserve it, Sammy. You don't know what I've done."

xx/xx/xx

Deamon was waiting in the alley behind the stripper bar for his pole dancer. There were a lot of other places to be and adventures to be had but this girl had gotten in the way of his fun. That couldn't be allowed. The world needed to know that it couldn't stand in The Deamon's way anymore. No stripper or bouncer or even a King of Hell could deny him whatever he wanted now.

He stepped into the shadows when the back door opened and various women flowed out into the alley. Generally in groups of at least two or more, these girls were wise to the ways of the world. No one walked alone. Deamon smiled.

Even if Miss Red White and Blue came out with a friend it would just mean more fun for Deamon. His arm flared, the glow of the mark getting ready to be fed showed through the shadows. Deamon clamped down and hid the flickering beast.

Finally Miss RWB appeared and she did have a friend; a busty blonde who had been his waitress that night. He had considered her but she didn't piss him off. She had done her job and brought him his drinks quickly and quietly. She had been careful not to distract him from his chosen brunette who wrapping herself around the pole.

As the two girls walked away, their heels tapping out a rhythm he glided out of the shadows ghosting up behind them.

"Good evening ladies," he hummed and when they jumped in surprise he held out the ten dollar bill he had tried to get Miss RWB to pick up inside the club. "I think this belongs to you."

"You're that guy who beat the shit out of Ronnie in the club," the blonde squeak out. "Get away from us."

"Now, is that anyway to treat an admirer?" he smiled, the honey sweet , smooth voice of Dean Winchester wrapping its way around them and hitting all the right notes. "I'd love to make it up to you both. Would you like a drink in a real bar?"

The smile, the soft words and, above all, his beautiful face now adorned with clear green eyes convinced both women that a drink wouldn't hurt. It only took him a couple of minutes to get the brunette in the front seat of the Impala with her side kick stashed in the back. He drove to an upscale bar that was firmly in Crowley's pocket. Even with two strippers on his arms no one dared get in Deamon's way. They were all well aware of the consequences.

The bartender fed them the drinks in an unbroken wave and even though they both knew better the two women went with him to a 'private room' where, he assured them, they would be so much more comfortable.

He lay back on the huge, soft pillows, glorying in the wonderful feeling of the two women working in tandem to get him naked as soon as possible. Spread out in all his beauty he was theirs to do with as they wished. Hands went everywhere and the blonde worked him over very nicely. Her lips and tongue laved at this face, neck and ears as she playfully held down his arms, pretending to hold him prisoner. He allowed it as he was concentrating on what Miss RWB was doing between his legs.

Her tongue went circling around his sack and she sucked on each ball firmly, making it squirm and tighten. When she dropped the second one back into position and used her tongue to trace up to the root of his cock he arched and moaned, trying to get her to speed it up. Miss RWB swallowed his cock as Blondie went after his nipples.

Blonde changed positions and went up high on the pillow, pulling his head up to rest between her legs, lifting it up so that he could watched as Miss RWB mounted up. The brunette braced her hands on his stomach and slid right down his pole and began dancing. He pulled loose a hand from blondie's weak grip and reached for the blade buried under one of the pillows.

Miss RWB was pounding away, while he could feel Blondie's fingers buried in her own juices. He was climbing up to his climax and so were they. At the height of everyone's climax he pulled out the blade. As he exploded inside the brunette he sliced her throat and let her blood pour down, mimicking his own release. He thought of it as letting her come all over him.

Blondie was screaming and he reached up and pulled her head down, taking her mouth in a bloody kiss. He cut her heart from her chest and let her blood mingle with that of her friend. The Deamon lay back, awash in the blood of innocents. His Mark flared high as he lay in the blood soaked pillows staring up at the ceiling fed and entirely content.


	2. Be Careful What You Wish For

xx/xx/xx

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

**Demons Gone Wild**

**Chapter 2**

_**Be Careful What You Wish For**_

From the Scene In Episode 10.3 "Soul Survivor": Sam and Dean discuss Dean's possible death as a demon: "I might possibly deserve it, Sammy You don't know what I've done."

xx/xx/xx

Deamon, or Dean as Crowley still called him, sat with the King of Hell at a bar having a boiler maker and listening to Crowley prattle on about how wonderful it was to have Dean as his wing man, how he completed Crowley and how they would rule Hell together.

Dean was tired of it and decided Crowley needed to put up or shut up, he reached over and slid his hand between Crowley's legs and squeezed, "What are you packing in your fancy pants?"

Crowley did a spit take across the bar and dropped his drink, "Dean, so forward of you. If you're serious I'd be happy to show you. I have a confession to make; I've had a school boy crush on you since we met each other."

Dean wanted to say "no shit" but he kept his trap closed, instead he finished his drink in silence because he knew it would drive the demon crazy.

Crowley reached over and began massaging Dean's stiff dick through the denim, "My, you are a big boy aren't you, so hard and needy. I really can't call it 'Little Dean' anymore, can I?"

Dean gave him hooded sex eyes and a grin, "Since I went to dark side my dick seems to be hard all the time, I think I'd poke it in a fucking knot hole." He grabbed Crowley by the sleeve and led him to the door.

….

Crowley snapped his fingers and was now wearing a black velvet robe and Dean was naked as the day he was born. He looked Dean's body up and down before focusing on the long, flushed dripping cock jutting out from his bush of dark blonde curls.

"So lovely, even better than my fantasies; why don't you bend over the bed and let your Master do the driving pretty boy?"

Deamon cocked his head to the side and lost his smile, his eyes were the color of India ink. He stepped behind Crowley and ripped the robe off, "You always say witty things like, to what do I owe the reach around…well here it is."

He weighed the demons heavy balls then grabbed onto a surprisingly long, plump cock. Crowley closed his eyes and emitted a growl from deep in his chest. Imagine his surprise when he found himself shoved on his belly and Deamon mounting him.

"Dean what do you think you're doing? Get off me."

"Fuck you Crowley, you're my bitch now. I told you, I can do anything I want and you just better not get in my way. I like you better like this; face down, ass up, and, most importantly, mouth shut."

Deamon spread Crowley's cheeks, spit on his hole and forced his way inside until his balls were buttressed against the hellish bastard's ass. It all happened so quickly Crowley didn't have time to react.

Deamon immediately began pounding. He grabbed the demons thick thighs and lifted Crowley's hips; forcing his shoulders to the mattress pinning him. When Crowley tried to scream for his minions Dean pressed his face into a pillow hoping he would suffocate but he knew better.

He smacked Crowley's ass over and over again, "Like that you dirty, nasty bitch? I heard you braggin' to Sammy boy on the phone…don't worry, little brother is getting a good old fashion raping pretty soon."

Deamon bent down and bit the back of a meaty shoulder until he drew blood. He lapped at the demonic elixir like a starving cat as his mark tingled giving its approval to the feast. Crowley was supernaturally strong but so was his Knight of Hell. Deamon bit Crowley's back again and again until the King's blood spilled down, turning the mattress sticky with demon blood, black and stinking.

Deamon bit down one last time as he shot a stream of spunk inside the demon's bowels. The last bite he came back with a mouthful of flesh; chewed quickly then swallowed it down. He jerked his spent cock out of the busted asshole, "Nice ride, did I bust your cherry. bitch?"

Crowley rolled on his bleeding back already in the process of healing, he only nodded affirmative has he stared bug eyed up at his beautiful rapist.

Deamon smiled down at him exposing bloodstained teeth, "Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it."

Deamon left to shower off the filth leaving the King of Hell in a pool of his own blood to reevaluate his very existence.


	3. Harvest in the Fields of Blood

xx/xx/xx

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

**Deamons Gone Wild**

**Chapter 3**

**Harvest in the Fields of Blood**

From the Scene In Episode 10.3 "Soul Survivor": Sam and Dean discuss Dean's possible death as a demon: "I might possibly deserve it, Sammy. You don't know what I've done."

xx/xx/xx

Demon Dean sat in the window seat of an expensive Hotel room overlooking Lake Michigan. Chicago was a wonderful town, so damn bloody, dirty and full of those souls that deserved meeting a Knight of Hell. He played with the Blade, smoothing it in his hand, allowing it a sip of his blood every now and then. He was entranced by the speed with which his wounds healed. That was his job, his payment for new found freedom, feeding blood to the Blade.

The Blade freed him of guilt, of pain, of responsibility for all his sins. The weight that had been laid on him since he was a child that had beaten him down and tied him to his destiny was gone. He was free to do whatever he wanted, as he had told his 'partner' Crowley. Of course, there was a cost. He was owned body and soul by the Blade and it made of him what it would.

Abaddon had been right; Crowley was a Salesman. Who had thought to allow the creep to become the King of Hell? Hell deserved a better King, a firmer hand. Hell deserved a Knight to lead it. Crowley was sorely mistaken if he thought that Deamon would be content to rule by his side. The Blade would be happy to drink Crowley's blood.

Once more he stared out over the water. What was he doing? This penny-ante killing he had been doing since becoming the Blade's lover was not worthy of the great design. This destruction of a soul at a time; it was not worthy of a Knight of Hell. He should be out at Death's side, mowing down whole fields of souls. If he wanted to gain the throne, if his ambition was to rule alone, he would need to gather supporters. He needed battalions of worthy warriors.

Men of Evil, already half way to Demons who he could deliver to Hell already branded with his mark; those were the Deaths he should be reaping. He should be feeding their blood to the Blade. He knew exactly where to find them. They existed in the headlines daily of this tainted world, their locations pin-pointed.

The killing fields were out there clearly defined by blood, by death and by disease. The pictures were live in the virtual world; bodies in the streets, the slaughter of innocents broadcast in prime time. Hardly anyone would notice the addition of a Knight of Hell among the Armies of Men.

He could lead them in the murder of innocents. Standing knee high in the broken bodies of victims he could then turn on the Armies of Men and send the murders straight to hell, feeding the Blade their blood. Such worthy souls, splashed with the gore of children and mothers, rapists and murders all, they would provide him with an army worthy to stand at the Command of a true Knight of Hell.

He blinked and his pretty black eyes reflected the fires of massacres taking place on the other side of the world. With another blink he was there with the Blade in his hand. He watched as a soldier sliced the head off a child as the mother stood by screaming.

Deamon thrust forward, burying the Blade in the solder's gut and whispered "Remember my face in Hell." Then he turned and cut the head off the annoying woman, sadly. He had liked the sound of her screams ringing in his ears but there was work to be done. Music could come later, when he sat on the throne.

By the time he had walked out to the top of the hillside, killing along the way he had a dozen dead men following him. The screams and the weeping surrounded them. He stopped and looked out over what had once been a fruitful valley. Now it was full of fires, ashes and blood. Perfect.


	4. Dream a Little Dream of Me

xxX/XxxX/Xxx

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

**Deanmons Gone Wild**

**Chapter 4**

**Dream a Little Dream with Me**

From the Scene In Episode 10.3 "Soul Survivor": Sam and Dean discuss Dean's possible death as a demon: "I might possibly deserve it, Sammy. You don't know what I've done."

xxX/XxxX/Xxx

Deanmon didn't even know how he got here. He didn't even know where 'here' was. It was a dark, stinking alley in some dark, stinking town under a vicious finger nail thin slice of a high-riding moon. Just moments before he'd been in the boneyard of Hell, striding through piles of old bones, new bones, bones of fresh corpses, some bones still enclosed in living flesh crawling over a never ending plain and wailing.

The Deanmon had liked it there. It made him feel at home. The Blade had slashed down into each still living sinner, looking for precious flowing blood to drink. He'd been a boy and his Blade in the fields of his Lord. Lucifer, the bright Morning Star was his God, was his Master, and his longed for lover.

Under the crimson stained sky of Hell Deanmon had smiled and thought of killing Crowley. Crowley was a fool, who thought that Dean was his friend. Who thought of Dean as a partner, as a co-regent? The highest Crowley could ever be was a foot stool under the feet of the Knight of Hell. Deanmon snickered at the vision and kicked a barely moving pile of bones out of his way.

When he freed Lucifer then he would have a partner. Even a Knight of Hell would be proud to stand at Satan's throne, an acknowledged favorite one. The Deanmon had been enjoying his fantasies when, pop! suddenly he was here. He didn't even know where here was.

Then the smell of the Lake, aided by the biting wind, hit him full in the face. He stopped for a moment as he stepped out of the alley on to a sidewalk and looked around. A familiar sky line against a dark slice of turbulent sky was all he needed to see. That and the ancient brick street surface let him know he was in Cleveland, bloody Cleveland. No one came here voluntarily so he must have been sent.

Deanmon looked around, disgusted. If this was Crowley's doing he was going to string the King of Hell up by his silk necktie and toast the little bastard until l he was crispy.

Deanmon shrugged. No matter how he got here he might as well make use of the time. Shadows moved at the end of the alley on the other side of the street and the Blade was thirsty. The Blade was always thirsty. If he didn't feed it when asked the Blade would take his own blood as forfeit.

The shadows he was watching were tracing out the dancing steps of a transaction as old as civilization. A whore and her John were negotiating. He wanted to see her body and she wanted to see his money. No freebies. No 'tastes' up front. You pay your money and you take what's offered; those were the rules of this game.

Deanmon crossed the street, just avoiding the slush thrown up by a passing taxi. The Shadows heard him coming, his soles echoing on the sidewalk. The whore backed up into a wall and the John stood in front of her, shielding her with his open overcoat. So chivalry wasn't completely dead in Cleveland. It was just dying an ugly death.

Deanmon didn't even slow down. As he approached he pulled out the Blade. When he was close enough he filleted the man's spine from his body and tossed the bones in the street. It was not nearly as good as Hell's boneyard but good enough. He did what he could to bring Hell to the Earthly plain.

As the man's lax body fell away the whore was exposed. Her eyes were huge and her mouth was preparing to scream like a bloody siren. She took in the Knight's beautiful face, his smile and the flash of his ever so white teeth against his tanned skin. Dean debated for a second or two. Leave her to get abused by Cleveland's cops or be kind and cut her throat? Decisions, decisions. Without a break in his stride he lopped her head from her shoulders and watched it roll into the darkness of the alley.

No pause, not a change in the syncopation of his foot falls, Deanmon kept walking west. If he kept going, day after day, in a pretty straight line it would be possible to arrive at Sammy's bunker door in Lebanon, Kansas. He imagined knocking on the magic castle's door with the bloody Blade and having Sam swing it open.


	5. Radar Love

xx/xx/xx

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

**Demons Gone Wild**

**Chapter 5**

_**Radar Love**_

From the Scene In Episode 10.3 "Soul Survivor": Sam and Dean discuss Dean's possible death as a demon: "I might possibly deserve it, Sammy You don't know what I've done."

xx/xx/xx

Deanmon dropped the assortment of junk food and energy drinks on the counter then went back and grabbed a soft pretzel and a couple of hotdogs to add to the pile. For good measure he got a bottle of Wild Turkey and a six pack.

It didn't matter what he ate, drank or who he fucked, Deanmon wasn't going to die from AIDs, the clap, a bad ticker or liver failure. In fact he wasn't going to die at all.

Life with no rules was an incredible high. Even Dean Winchester had rules but Deanmon didn't. He fucked the King of Hell right up his chubby, tight ass and got away with it. Deanmon was one big set of monster balls.

The young guy behind the counter was downright pretty, Deanmon liked that very much. One of Dean's deep, dark secrets was a taste for man pussy; nothing turned him on like a bubble butt and a nice pink, tight hole.

He knew Sam had one, little brother had walked around nude enough over the years and gave Dean a free peek at that cherry treasure between those sweet cheeks. A few times Dean went out, got drunk enough and had his pick of boys because he was gorgeous. The sex was great but it wasn't Sam.

Now Deanmon got that itch and this kid's ass was going to fix it.

He reached across the counter and tapped the clerks nametag, "Mick…I like that, when do you get a break Mick?"

The tall, lean muscled guy with the shaggy blonde hair glanced at the clock on the wall, "Half hour, why?"

Deanmon looked over at the other clerk, a short, middle aged nondescript female busy reading a magazine, "How about your break is now Mick, I need a piece of ass and I pick you."

Mick threaded his fingers though the long bangs hanging over his eyes and pushed them back, the man offering was hot but there was something off about him. He was dangerous but not just in a bad boy way, dangerous as in Mick might end up in a dumpster.

"Sorry dude, I don't swing that way."

Dean reached out again and ran his thumb over the full, pink lips then the stubble along his jaw, "I'm pretty sure you do. Ring all this crap up and then meet me in the alley."

….

Mick didn't know why he was heading down the alley to get fucked by the dangerous stranger but there he was letting his stiff prick lead the way.

Deanmon had his out; it jutted toward the kid like a spear ready to sink deep into some hot, rosy flesh. "There you are just like a good bitch…pants down, against the wall."

"Wait, you got a condom?"

…..

Deanmon took the kids shirt and wiped his dick off then tossed it to him, "Thanks for the fuck."

Mick was crouched next to the dumpster hugging his knees and crying, "You son of a bitch, I'm tore the hell up."

Deanmon pulled out the First Blade and pointed it toward him, "Hey you're lucky I don't make you clean my dick with your cocksucker mouth."

…

Once he was back on the open road Deanmon gorged on the hotdogs and chased them with some Wild Turkey. He tossed the wrappers out the window and then put the pedal to the metal. He went through the tapes trying to find just the right song as he drove to Lebanon Kansas to pop Sam's cherry.

Deanmon's phone buzzed and when he checked it Sam, "Hey baby boy, I was just thinking all sorts of things about you."

Sam sat at the conference table fingering a pair of handcuffs, "Where are you Dean?"

"Closer than you think bitch, why do you miss me?"

"Dean I can save you let me help. I love you no matter what, you're my brother."

Deanmon purred, "I looove you too Sammy baby, get that pretty ass all nice and primped for me. Don't worry; I'll wash my cock before I pop you're cherry."

There was dead silence on the other end.

….

Deanmon still retained one thing Dean loved, music. It was a must; it set a mood and made him high as a kite. The song he picked was Radar Love, that's what Dean had for sweet little Sammy, always did and always would.

_I've been drivin' all night, my hand's wet on the wheel  
>There's a voice in my head, that drives my heel<br>It's my baby callin', says, "I need you here"  
>Ans it's half past four, and I'm shifting gear<em>

_When she's lonely and the longing gets too much  
>She sends a cable comin' in from above<br>Don't need no phone at all  
>We've got a thing that's called radar love<br>We've got a wave in the air, radar love…_

Deanmon hated that bit of schmaltzy bullshit that came through every once in awhile. Dean wasn't dead, the whining bastard raked at his brain until he wanted to ram the First Blade right through his temple.

Baby twisted down the country road full throttle until Deanmon saw lights flashing in the rearview mirror and heard a siren wail.

"_Son of a bitch…fucking cop…alright you wanna play with me? I always wanted my own service revolver."_

…

Officer Martin approached the driver's side of the muscle car then tapped the window. The cocky looking driver smiled as his rolled the window down then put his hands on the wheel where the officer could see them.

"Sir I clocked you at 80 miles an hour, care to tell me where you were headed in such a hurry?"

Deanmon batted his lashes just to be an asshole and make the man uncomfortable, "Heading home to rape my little brother."

Officer Martin looked as if he was just gut punched, "What…what did you say?"

Deanmon over enunciated each word, "I said, I'm heading home to rape my little brother…breed his skinny ass…what, am I not speaking English?"

Martin backed away and pulled his gun, "Out of the car!"

The First Blade flew out the window like a boomerang and sliced across Martins belly eviscerating him instantly. The man dropped to his knees and tipped to the side, eyes wide open in shock. The last thing he saw before the lights went out forever was a pulsing heap of guts, his guts which just seconds before had been safely contained inside him.

Deanmon exited the Impala leaving a trail of food wrappers and bottles that tumbled out the door. He bent down to retrieve his trophy then decided to take the whole belt.

He whistled as he walked back to the black beast that was there to get him from point A to point B. It was a good day so far, a damn good day.

…

Deanmon patted the service revolver sitting on the passenger seat as he got the Impala up to 90.

"_I'm comin' Sam, just hang on."_

TBC


	6. Iowa Gets in the Way

XxxX/Xxx

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

**Deanmon Gone Wild**

**Chapter 6**

**Iowa Gets in the Way**

From the Scene In Episode 10.3 "Soul Survivor": Sam and Dean discuss Dean's possible death as a demon: "I might possibly deserve it, Sammy. You don't know what I've done."

xxX/XxxX/Xxx

Deanmon drove like the demon he was. The cop's gun bounced around in the passenger seat, a poor substitute for darling Sammy's ass on the leather. He had the Impala up to a steady ninety, abusing the hell out of the beast. She whined and cried but Deanmon was focused only on his pretty brother's ass and how quickly he could get to Lebanon. To hell with the car.

He blew through Des Moines with hardly a glance at the city spread on either side of the highway. Lucky people; the Deanmon gave their lovely mid-West city a pass this day. They could create their own hell without any help from him.

He was coming up on Omaha Nebraska and was just short of the state line when he spotted the cheery little diner set off the road. It was just charming enough to make him want to do it some severe damage. He hated the perky flashing yellow arrow coyly pointing out "Mom Edith's Café". Christ, how much he wanted to turn that thing off. He ripped down the off ramp headed directly for the homey restaurant with frigging frilly curtains in the big glass windows. He really, really hoped that Mom was home. He would like to bake her guts in one of her own flakey pie crusts.

Thinking of pie made something flutter in his dead heart. He wondered if maybe he could get a slice of apple pie, heavy with cinnamon and a scoop of French vanilla ice cream on the side. If it existed it could possibly delay Mom's death by a half hour or so. He slowed down and entered the parking lot at a reasonable pace, stalking the lair of the Apple Pie Maven. He laughed at his own joke and the laugh was as tortured and bitter as his damaged soul.

Parking in front he observed a happy Iowan family exiting the restaurant. They would most likely never know how close to death they had come. Mom and Dad walked hand in hand; still happy after all those years. Dean snorted, not believing the hype for a minute. The little boy out in front tugged on his big sister's hand, pulling her toward the oh so appropriate silver minivan waiting for them. Dean swore just the sight of them all made his back teeth ache. He thought about how sweet big sister's skin would taste on his tongue.

Instead he stood to one side politely as two elderly people came out when he swung the door open. He walked to the hostess station and stood there like a good boy. When the skinny blonde came over clutching the menus to her flat chest he gave her a smile that would light up her dreams in the days to come, if she had any days left when he was done here.

She seated him right in front. He was in a booth with a big glass window right next to the entrance. Dean gave another heartwarming smile to the middle aged waitress who came for his order. "Large slice of French Apple pie with French vanilla on the side and coffee" she repeated back to him. "Will that be all for you sir?"

"For now, honey, for now," he rumbled in his best smoky, sexy voice and fluttered his lashes. Service was swift and he thought he'd return the favor later. He'd kill her quick and easy. She wouldn't suffer.

He looked over his killing field. About half the tables were filled with the late afternoon crowd. There were the hostess and several waitresses plus whoever was in the kitchen. If really looked like an easy clean sweep. There didn't appear to be anyone capable of giving him any trouble. He'd just kill them all instead of leaving a tip and paying his bill. They were going to be a simple appetizer, whetting his appetite for sweet Sam who wasn't more than a couple of hours away.

He was just finishing up and as close to happy as he had been for a while when two idiots burst through the front door with shotguns screaming "This is a robbery" and shot into the ceiling.

Deanmon snorted. "A robbery." He shouted. "You mean you're not selling Girl Scout cookies?"

One of the tweakers turned to the demon, shaking and twitching. Deanmon thought he saw the guy's eyes actually spinning around. "You got something to say, mister?' The guy racked the shot gun, the last voluntary motion he would make in his now very short life. Deanmon moved with inhuman speed right into the guy's face, pushed the barrel up under the man's chin and blew his head off. Everyone in the diner started screaming and crawling under their tables.

Deanmon drew the Blade. He could feel it throbbing, thirsting after some of the blood dripping off the diner ceiling. The blade was hungry. He waved his Blade at the other guy who was shaking so hard the barrel of the gun bounced around. The man's eyes were very wide and his mouth fell open. "You killed George." He kicked at his buddy's foot and George's body rolled over, ruined face up.

The second robber began a scream that sounded more like a whistle. Deanmon found it very annoying. "Yes, you fucker, Georgie boy is good and dead," Deanmon laughed, swung forward and sunk the blade into the man's belly. The second robber dropped his shot gun, which fired when it hit the floor and grabbed at Deanmon's knife hand, trying to draw the Blade out of his gut. Deanmon heard a scream behind him. Evidently the shot gun had found a target. He didn't move; he didn't turn around to look. He stood with the Blade as it sucked the life force out of the man and sent the thrill through every cell of Deanmon's body. It was better than sex.

A minute later he was out the door and in the Impala, blood dripping down his arm. "Damn," he thought. "I'll have to get that cleaned up now." It wasn't that he was worried about the bloody steering wheel. He just hated the way his hands stuck to it. He wasn't going to put up with that all the way to his sweet brother's home.


	7. Cherry Popping

As the miles flew by Deanmon became irritated as the blood on his fingers dried then cracked leaving crimson flakes all over his clothing. He was a mess and that just wouldn't do, his first time fucking his brother's virgin ass had to be special.

Deanmon had big plans for him. By the time he got done with Sam the bitch was going to take cock and like it. _"Sam handcuffed in the backseat as I travel around reaping all the useless meat that litters this shithole of a world. My reward is blood and another turn at busting my brother's sweet asshole."_

Just the thought of it got his dick hard; Deanmon pulled it out and started stroking. As pre-come dripped over his fingers it mingled with the flakes of blood turning his seed pink. He worked his long, thick piece of meat quickly until it throbbed and jerked spewing jizz over the floor of the Impala.

Deanmon saw a sign for a motel called the Olive Pit, it was a stupid name and he considered stabbing the owner through the ear just for coming up with it. He pulled in and looked around to see if there was a bar attached to justify the name, there wasn't.

…..

He entered the office and watched as the owner, a pig of a man wearing a stained wife beater and carrying a beer shuffled to the front desk. Deanmon dropped his money on the counter for one night the poked the owner in the tit, "Nice rack."

"Fuck you pretty boy."

Deanmon almost gutted him right there but he wanted to clean up and eat something. He hated being chained to his human needs like eating, fucking and shitting. All it did was slow him down.

….

He wiped his hand across the mirror and stared at the pretty face looking back at him. Deanmon blinked his rich green eyes and fluttered his lashes then licked his generous lips. "I'd fuck myself if I could…hmm, my dick is long enough. I'll have to try that sometime."

There was a knock on the door and he answered it naked, the startled pizza boy held the box up in front of his face, "Carnivore pizza, 14.87."

Deanmon grabbed the box and tossed it on the bed. He was pleased to see the kid looked a lot like sweet, baby faced Angel Samandriel. He handed him a twenty then held up a fifty, "Want to make some extra? I've got big set of balls that need draining."

Pizza boy stammered, "No…I uh…I have to go." It wasn't that the guy standing naked in front of him wasn't sexy as hell, it was just that the kid wasn't all that gay. He tried to leave and a strong hand caught his arm.

"Are you sure…maybe I should just drag your ass in here and give you a good fuck. That would teach you to walk around all tender and innocent, it rolls off you like perfume."

The delivery boy managed to yank his arm away and ran back to the parking lot, hopped in his little car and drove out as fast as he could. Lucky boy, things could have ended very badly.

…..

Bathed and hunger sated, Deanmon started working on Sam, he dialed his brothers number and as soon as Sam answered Deanmon said in his most tragic Dean voice, "Sam it's me."

He smiled when he noticed the tremble in Sam's voice.

"Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy, I want to see you. I'm sick Sammy…so sick."

"Where are you Dean?"

Deanmon hung up, he had planted the seed.

….

The next morning Deanmon gutted the Olive Pit owner as planned and washed up before he left. He stopped for some breakfast and noted the name of the diner. Before he headed for the bunker Deanmon made one more call.

He forced himself to cry and sobbed, "Sammy come get me, I need help bad."

Sam toyed with the handcuffs as he tried to hold back his own tears, "Where are you Dean, I'll come get you and we can fix this."

"I'm at diner called Betsy's Snack Shack." He gave Sam directions then promised to stay put. After Deanmon hung up he took another route to the bunker to avoid Sam on the road.

…..

Sam finally found Betsy's Snack Shack, he searched the parking lot for the Impala but it wasn't there. He went inside and showed the waitress on shift a photo of his brother, she took it from him and smiled at the handsome image.

"Oh yeah, I remember him. Who could forget the face of an angel? He left me a big tip and headed out; I didn't see where he went after that. You could check the strip mall next door."

Sam tucked the photo in his shirt pocket and headed out to search the parking lot next door. When there was no Dean or Impala to be seen he headed back to the bunker. Sam wanted to kick his brother's ass but at this point that seemed pretty impossible.

…..

Deanmon was well hidden; it wasn't long before Sam came back. He stood there at the bunker door, shoulders slumped in defeat. Once the key was in the lock Sam heard a hammer click on a revolver.

"Alright Sam, don't do anything stupid because honestly I don't give a flying fuck of you get shot."

Sam raised his hands slowly and Deanmon removed the weapons his brother had hidden on his body, "Sloppy Sam, I know where you keep everything. Open the door, hand me the key then get on your knees."

"Dean…"

"Shut up and do it."

Sam did as he was told. He wanted Dean back at the bunker to cure him but not like this. Sam wasn't sure if he was going to make it through the ordeal, old Dean had a lot of resentment built up inside him that transferred over to the demon.

As he knelt there a needle was pressed into the back of his arm and in a few seconds everything went black.

….

"Saaammy…wake up for big brother."

Sam rolled his head away trying to escape the voice in his ear but it persisted. Finally he forced his eyes open and was struck with a pounding headache, "What did you give me?"

Deanmon fingered the treasure trail leading to his brother's trimmed pubes and lingered there, "I don't know why you cut away all those pretty curls of yours."

Sam was strapped at the wrists to a large padded medical table in the basement, his legs draped over stirrups and spread obscenely wide. He felt sore and his bowels empty, "What did you do to me?"

Deanmon laughed with not a shred of humor behind it, "I hauled you into the shower and douched out your ass. I told you slut, clean up for me." He showed his pretty black peepers and when Sam looked away Deanmon grabbed his face, "You will look at them and like it."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, "Fuck you Dean."

"No Sammy, fuck you."

Sam felt a nipple sucked then bitten over and over until it throbbed, his brother switched to the other and finally Sam couldn't hold back the moan of pain caught in his throat. There was nothing tender about it, Deanmon wanted everything to hurt.

His voice was rough as road gravel, "What's wrong baby…don't you like Daddy working those pink tasty nips?"

"Stop Dean, please."

"Wrong answer."

…

After almost an hour of torture Sam was covered in bite marks, bleeding and bruised. The delicate skin of his thighs right up to his balls was ravaged and sore.

Sam was sick with himself when he felt his cock twitch then slowly fill when Deanmon sat on a physicians stool between his open legs and licked his cock.

"Look at this, my little brother is a horny bitch! Damn…you do not know how many years I wanted you spread out like this, pussy right there waiting for me."

Sam whispered, "How long?"

Deanmon swiped a tongue across his asshole, "Long enough, trust me you don't want to know."

Deanmon stood and centered the head of his cock at the clenched pucker of muscle, "This is payback for leaving me in Purgatory, for fucking that bitch of a vet while I was in pain, for every punch I took for you and all the times you acted as if you were better than me." He didn't bother lubing up, Deanmon rammed himself balls deep. It felt like coming home.

Sam let out a strangled scream; soon the relentless pounding became smoother as a slick of blood eased the way for his brother.

….

Deanmon looked down at Sam and didn't feel a drop of pity. He stroked his softening, bloody dick as his brother twitched and jerked on the table, "Sucks to be you Sam." He headed out to shower off the stink.

TBC


	8. Table Turning

XxxX/Xxx

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

**Deanmon Gone Wild**

**Chapter 8**

**Table Turning**

From the Scene In Episode 10.3 "Soul Survivor": Sam and Dean discuss Dean's possible death as a demon: "I might possibly deserve it, Sammy. You don't know what I've done."

xxX/XxxX/Xxx

Sam put every bit of strength he had left after his rape into straining the bindings on his right wrist. He ignored the pain of what Deanmon had done to his body and called on all the power twenty years of hunting had developed.

After almost cutting off the circulation and slicked with the blood from the bindings cutting into his wrist he felt the lashing begin to slip.

He could hear Deanmon singing in the shower down the hall. It was appropriate that the dumb ass Deanmon would leave the door open. Deanmon wanted to be able to hear anything going on in the bunker. The beast didn't think about that door swinging both ways.

Sam's right wrist slid through the lashings, leaving more skin along the way. It was just one more pain in a galaxy of pain. If there was ever a time that Sam could tell Deanmon from his brother Dean, this was that time. After taking spending decades watching out for Sammy for the Deanmon to turn on his brother this way spoke of the power of the Blade or the deep, long buried resentments that Dean had harbored and were now let free.

Either way, Sam was not going to stand for it. He would get his brother back and then would see to it that Dean's soul was purged. It shouldn't take long after Dean become human again. After all Sam had twenty years of experience to draw on. He knew exactly where his brother's guilt buttons were to be found.

He knew that it wasn't his brother who had tortured him. It was a creature created by the Mark of Cain and the First Blade but it was Dean's hands and teeth and, God help him, his dick that had hurt Sam. First he would make the Deanmon pay and afterwards he would recover his brother.

Sam rose from the bloody table and drew a Devil's Trap in the doorway in his own blood. Slipping down the hall he found clothes and the demon handcuffs in his room. Just for safety's sake he also grabbed the Demon killing knife. Now he felt that he could face Deanmon head on.

The noise from the shower still filled the hall as Sam made went back to the torture chamber and waited in the dark.

xxX/XxxX/Xxx

Deanmon made his way back to sweet Sammy. He was all shiny clean. The nasty dried blood and Sammy's bodily fluids were all washed down the drain and Deanmon was refreshed, recharged and ready for round two. When he got done with his sweet baby brother there wouldn't be anything left of the Hunter. Imagine how surprised he was when he opened the door to the room where he had left a naked and bound Sammy and walked straight into a Devil's trap. Not only was it a Devil's trap; it was the very strongest kind that could be scribed. It was drawn in human blood.

Deanmon stopped so fast he felt like he had run into the back of a truck.

"Sam." He squalled. "You little bitch. How did you get loose? What's the matter, don't you want to play anymore?"

Deanmon dropped his towel and grabbed his dick. Waving it around he went on "Come on, bitch. Don't you want to go for another ride? I got a lot more prime dick for you. Come and get it."

A shadow detached itself from the dark wall next to the doorframe and a shower of Holy Water poured over Deanmon. Throwing his arms over his head, trying to keep the water off, Deanmon fell to his knees. The water burned and smoked. Deanmon cursed a bloody streak and momentarily lost control. In that instant the cold, sharp, biting metal of the demon cuffs were snapped around his wrists and his power was contained. The shadow turned into a damaged but triumphant Sam.

Sam stood in front of Deanmon, bloody, damaged but smiling. "Welcome back brother." He said. "Now it's my turn."

"Oh yeah, Sammy "Deanmon smirked. "What're going to do now? Collect payback? Come on, a little rape between brothers, what's that on the list of sins? You've already got your hell ticket stamped anyway, little brother. You and your demon blood have an express elevator registered in your name."

"Shut up, Demon." San answered and jerked on the chain between Deanmon's handcuffs. "Come on. Obey and follow me." Sam jerked on the chain and Deanmon stumbled forward. "We're going for a little walk."

"What, you need a bed for this, Sam?" Dean sneered. "This room's not good enough for you? Or maybe it has got too many bad memories? Tell me, did you get even the smallest thrill when my dick was up your ass? Haven't you been asking for it for years? Was it good for you like it was for me?"

Sam walked down the hall leading Deanmon like a dog on a chain.

"I do have something planned for you demon." Sam finally replied. "You're going to pay, just not in the way you think."

Finally they reached the bunker's dungeon and Sam shoved the boxes out of the way of the hidden door. Once inside he put Deanmon into the same chair that Crowley had been bound to. No table for Deanmon though. Just the chair; it was all that Sam was going to need.

"This won't hold me, Sammy," Deanmon laughed. "I'll get out and then what, little brother? Maybe we'll go back to our special place and I'll ream you out again. Is that something for you to look forward to, Sammy?"

Sam leaned forward, resting his hands on the arms of Dean's chair. "Let me tell you what's going to happen now, Demon." Sam hissed.

"I'm going to go get a supply of Sanctified Blood and I'm going to feed it to you a syringe at a time. When you're cured; when your eyes are green again and I have my guilty, weight of the world brother back again; then I'm going to rape you. Not before; not when you'll possibly enjoyed it. I'll rape you when you agree that you deserve it. When you feel it's payment due, not before."

"I don't know, Sammy," Deanmon replied. "Are you sure you can wait that long? Wouldn't you like a bite of the apple now? I'm sweet and tasty. Come on, Sammy. You know you want it."

Sam stood up straight and glared at Deanmon. "No Demon. I want Dean, not you. When I ride your ass I'm going to want tears, not laughter."

TBC


	9. My Darling Brother

XxxX/Xxx

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

**Deanmon Gone Wild**

**Chapter 10**

**My Darling Brother**

From the Scene In Episode 10.3 "Soul Survivor": Sam and Dean discuss Dean's possible death as a demon: "I might possibly deserve it, Sammy. You don't know what I've done."

xxX/XxxX/Xxx

Dean's head hung down in exhaustion. Sam had stabbed him with that syringe so many times the skin of his arms felt soft. The back of his neck stung with puncture wounds. The worst of it all was that he could feel them all; every needle prick.

This wasn't a good sign. Deanmon laughed at injury. Every mark could be ignored and healed almost instantly. Dean held his breath as all the memories rushed back. All the emotions and the guilt crashed down on him. Most of all he felt afraid; afraid of what would come next. Slowly he lifted his head and stared at his brother.

"Hey Sammy," he murmured at his little brother. "Good job. You've got what you wanted; big brother's back.

Sam was sitting on the corner of the table, rolling the last of the blood syringes in his fingers. He stared at his brother's big green eyes. They were definitely green and soft; no longer black, shiny mirrors of a twisted soul.

Sam slid off the table and crossed over the Devil's trap. Once within reach of Dean he tilted big brother's head back by cupping his hand under Dean's chin. "Feeling better now, Dean?" he asked softly.

Dean's eyes flicked back and forth between Sam's mouth and his brother's hazel eyes. "I'm feeling more like myself now, Sam. I think you know that."

"Do you remember everything?" Sam said harshly. "Do you remember everything you did?"

"I'm sorry Sam. There's no way that I can ever ask for forgiveness and there's no way I can ever pay you back or make you whole again. Just know it was the Mark. It wasn't me. I swear it wasn't me."

"No, Dean." Sam's hand fastened more tightly onto Dean's face. "There's no way you can give back all the Deanmon has taken. There's no way you can pay me back at all. The same way you'll never save enough people to pay for the souls you tortured in Alistair's game room.

Sam leaned in, in complete control of big brother now. "I'll take what I want and I wanted my brother back. I'd like to punish Deanmon but I've just killed him off. Me and my little needles have had the joy of torturing that bastard for what? Near three days now."

Sam ran his fingers down Dean's neck, lightly touching the swollen, enflamed flesh he had been punishing with vicious needle jabs over and over. Each time he thought he was returning the pain of his rape back onto the Deanmon inside his brother. Deanmon had hissed and growled and spoke of his blood boiling under his skin.

Each blow, each puncture Sam had lapped up as if the sour taste of revenge was milk and honey. He sipped at the Deanmon's pain until even he was sated. Sam's stomach had begun to turn at the thought of drinking in even more bitter emotions.

The more he punished Deanmon the more the human Dean had come through. It got to a point when Sam could no longer balance one against the other and administering the blood cure was inflicting as much pain on Sam as it was on Deanmon. The ultimate sufferer would be Dean. Sam knew.

There would be no way to erase the Deanmon's memories from Dean's mind. Sam's brother had an unbearable amount of guilt already to carry from his time in Alistair's playground. Now the memories of Deanmon's actions would add even more to the load.

If would be no surprise if human Dean didn't try to drink those memories away. Sam knew he would have to watch carefully once he got Dean back. The man would have to be more than human to not try to self-medicate all the way to unconscious just to try for dreamless sleep.

"I think I should give you this latest syringe, Dean." Sam said softly. "Just to be safe. I'll try to be gentle but there's hardly an undamaged site on your skin now."

"It's alright Sammy," Dean dropped his head again. "Do what you think you need to do. I deserve it."

Sam stroked the side of Dean's face and the former Deamon leaned into the kindness. "I'm so sorry for everything, Sam." Dean sighed. "I have no idea how I can possibly make it up to you."

"Hush, big brother." Sam responded while searching for a spot on Dean that didn't look so red and sore. "It'll be fine. We'll work it out." He finally injected the last of the sanctified blood into Dean's bicep. Most of the injections had previously been to Dean's forearms or neck because Deanmon fought back and often attempted to bite Sam. Now Dean simply hung his head and breathed quickly through the pain.

Sam went back to the desk and sat to watch over his brother.

xxX/XxxX/Xxx

An hour passed and to Sam it looked as if Dean had gone to sleep in his restraints. The big guy went to check that Dean's heartbeat was still strong and that his flesh had cooled to normal levels. For the first time in days he released his brother from his bindings. Dragging Dean up out of chair awoke the green eyed Hunter and Dean whimpered at the movement.

"My legs are numb, Sam." Dena said as he leaned into his brother's arms. "Sorry I can't carry more of my own weight. Thank you."

"Come on Dean," Sam responded. "I'm taking you to the bathroom to get cleaned up for bed. Won't that be nice? Sleeping in your bed again? Come on big brother. Let's get you cleaned up."

Sam helped Dean strip and left the man sitting in a chair in the shower stall equipped with grab bars. While Dean sat under the warm water rubbing his neck and arms clean of bloody spills Sam rounded up some clean sweats and a T-shirt for Dean. Sam glued his broken brother back together and got him to his room. He tucked Dean up in his bed and went to leave.

"Please, Sam, don't leave me" Dean called softly. "Stay with me, please."

Sam had his hand on the open door but turned around to look at Dean. "If you're sure you want me to stay, Dean. I will." He replied. "Wouldn't you like something to drink or maybe a bit of soup before you go to sleep?"

"Just bring me some water, Sam." Dean said. "I just don't want to be alone with my dreams tonight. I'll eat in the morning."

Sam got Dean's water then stripped off and climbed into bed with his broken brother. He wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders and pulled him into a close embrace.

"You really are a good guy, Sam," Dean muttered. "I don't think I would be so kind if our positions were reversed."

"Hush, big brother." Sam responded and kissed the top of his brother's head. "You know I love you. I have always loved you, even when we were pissed at each other I still loved you."

Sam bent his head and kissed Dean's closed eyelids then moved down the man's face until he found Dean's sweet lips. "I'll never give up on you big brother. You would have to kill me to get me to stop. Now rest. Go to sleep. I'll keep the nightmares away."

The End


End file.
